I swallow, refusing to think about it any longer. My hand drifts to my stomach without thinking. For all the regrets I carry from my years with MCs, my baby isn’t one of them. Every tear I cried, every drop of blood I shed, every heartbreak I endured—it was all worth it.
With that thought in mind, I move on to the next place.
By the end of the day, my heart feels a little heavier, but I refuse to give up. Most of the other places weren’t like bitch facethis morning—they’d either genuinely filled the position, needed someone more qualified, or were just not suitable for a pregnant woman. As much as I didn’t want to mention my pregnancy and risk an instant no, I wasn’t about to put my baby in danger for any job.
I grab a green smoothie from the coffee shop on the corner and sit on the bench to wait for the bus, my feet aching from being on them all day. I take a sip of my drink, groaning in pleasure, and pray it doesn’t make a reappearance later—or it’ll look like that scene fromThe Exorcist.
While I wait, I pull out my phone and leave a one-star review for the boutique, calling out the woman behind the counter by name. Maybe it makes me petty, but I don’t care. Not everyone has thick skin, and for some, she might be the tipping point. And honestly, I’m sick of assholes acting like they’re better than everyone else.
Well, Becki with an I, karma’s a bitch. And unfortunately for you, so am I.
I groan when my alarm goes off the next day and roll over to turn it off, the movement making my stomach lurch. I scramble out of bed and drop to my knees beside the toilet and puke up my guts like I do every freaking morning. When I think I’m done, I drag myself to my feet, brush my teeth, and take a warm shower, hoping it’ll help make me feel better.
It helps a little. What I really need is to do some yoga or meditate. I hate feeling so off-balance, but it’ll have to wait for now. One of the diners I stopped by yesterday told me to come back early today when the boss was in.
I don’t bother getting too dressed up—not for a diner. So I throw on a crisp white shirt, dark-wash jeans, and a pair of black ankle boots. Then, after running a brush through my hair, I pull it up into a ponytail and spray a little of my favorite perfume on. Not too much, though, because smells are the enemy right now—which is going to make working in a diner interesting. But beggars can’t be choosers.
I apply a little concealer to hide the circles under my eyes and some blush for color before finishing with a swipe of lip gloss. With a nod to my reflection, I shove what I might need in my tote bag, along with some snacks for when my stomach settles and a bottle of water.
I wince when the music starts blaring next door. I’m really trying not to be that person, but who the hell wants to listen to death metal at eight-thirty in the morning? At least I’m already up, because if I’d been woken up yet again by the not-so-dulcet tones of Cannibal Corpse, I might’ve introduced myself to my neighbor by stabbing him.
With a growl, I slam the door behind me as I leave my apartment and stomp downstairs. I look up at the gray sky and wonder if I should go back for a coat. It’s not supposed to rain, but with my luck, it will, and I’ll get soaked.
When the bus pulls up at the end of the road, I curse. I guess I don’t have a choice, and I hurry over before it leaves. The driver smiles at me as I jump on.
“Morning, Miss. Where are you off to today?”
“Morning, Gene. I’ve got an interview at the diner on Denton Street. Then, after that, I have a few others. Hopefully today’s the day I find a job.”
He shakes his head. “Well, I wish you luck.”
“Thanks, Gene.” I go to hand him my money, but he shakes his head and waves me off.
“Bus is empty. Ain’t nobody gonna know. Keep your money and use it for something else.”
My throat gets tight, and I lean forward to press a kiss to his cheek, making him blush. “Thank you, Gene,” I whisper, meaning every word.
There are so many jerks out there, it’s easy to forget people can be nice for no reason. I reach into my bag and pull out a Snickers and hand it to him.
“For when you need a pick-me-up.”
“Oh, bless you,” He grins as I take a seat and settle in for the ride.
My mind drifts, thinking about how insane the last few weeks have been. I glance back at the apartment complex as we pull away and let out a sigh. It’s not exactly my forever home, but I need to save as much money as possible for when the baby arrives. I’ve got a small nest egg, but that’ll quickly disappear once the baby gets here.
I think about the guys and how they’re all doing, a smile tugging at my lips as my thoughts go to Havoc and Nevaeh, and Amity and G. It was nice to see some of them settle down and find their happily ever afters before I left. Hell, from what I’ve heard, even Hannibal’s halfway there.
I sigh and let my eyes slip closed as my brain goes straight tohim. My stomach knots at the memory of our last moments together. Some of it’s a blur, but the pain isn’t something I’m going to forget anytime soon.
Most days, I push him from my mind. I sure as heck know he isn’t sitting at the clubhouse thinking about me. I just wish my heart and head were on the same page. I try not to beat myself up about it. He spent years digging his way in, making me fall in love with him when I swore I wouldn’t, before leaving me in pieces. So it makes sense that it’ll take me years to climb out of the grave my heart’s buried in.
I rub my hand over my chest, trying to ease the pain I’ll carry with me from this life to the next. That’s the way it is with some people. They leave a scar, whether you want to carry their mark or not.
I think the worst part is knowing I can’t even blame it all on him. I knew we were doomed from the start, but I went for it anyway, even though I knew it would break me. I thought the good outweighed the bad. Guess I was wrong. Funny how you don’t see the full picture until you step away.
In the end, he gave me just enough of himself to keep me hooked. And now, with him gone, I have to fight the withdrawals daily. I have to remind myself that I might want him more than my next breath, but I don’tneedhim.
I’ve survived worse than Midas.
